


Comprehension and Acceptance

by bigblueboxat221b



Series: Sleep and Rest and Peace [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Intimacy, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04 Finale, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Finally, Mycroft is in the right place emotionally for he and Greg to get physical.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well here it is the (probable) last chapter of this work. When I started it I thought it would be a single chapter, but the story was too intricate for such short drabble! I've found it quite cathartic, actually, after all the furore surrounding the whole of series 4. Whatever my own feelings about the series, it made me anxious and sad that we couldn't just celebrate the precious gift of more canon about our favourite characters in their world. This was as much an emotional hurt/comfort for me as for Mycroft and Greg. Hopefully for some of you as well. May the balm of love and understanding heal us all.  
> Peace out. x  
> P.S. Don't step in the smut, it's all over the place. ; )

Blinking slowly, Mycroft opened his eyes. The sunlight streaming into the room was unusually bright for London, and he blinked again, allowing his eyes to adjust. His arms were still wrapped around Greg, who was sleeping, mouth slightly open as his head turned towards Mycroft. From the look of it, neither of them had moved more than a few centimeters since falling asleep. While it made sense that Mycroft would have held onto Greg subconsciously, he was surprised and gratified to feel that Greg’s arms were equally tight around him.

Clearly, their connection was as important to Greg as to Mycroft, a fact that made Mycroft’s heart pound. He knew of his own need for Greg, that much was clear, and Greg had been a Godsend in these past few days, patient and tender. This confirmation that Greg’s attachment ran deeper was significant for Mycroft, whose relationship experience was limited, to say the least. It comforted him and gave him confidence that Greg was not just here to placate Sherlock, or even to make sure Mycroft was okay. He was here because he cared, and that was a wonder in itself to Mycroft.

As Mycroft thought about all this, about the remarkable circumstances that had lead the two of them here, Greg stirred, his arms flexing around Mycroft before his eyes fluttered open.

Greg frowned against the bright light before his gaze settled on Mycroft’s face.

Mycroft turned a little to face Greg more fully. “Good morning,” Mycroft murmured. He couldn’t help a little smile at the gradual change of expression on Greg’s face, his mind still sleep slow.

“Good morning,” Greg replied, a lazy smile crossing his face. Mycroft’s expression was intense and relaxed at the same time. He seemed to be more open, and his examination of Greg’s face was interested in a new way. It had been a surreal few days, and this moment felt almost like a tipping point. There had been soft intimacy as Greg had gently helped Mycroft begin to heal, but this felt less like that compassionate tenderness. It felt different, he thought, a familiar sensation tugging low in his belly as Mycroft looked at him. Lying in bed together, the morning sun lighting the room, Greg could see Mycroft inviting him into something new. Something _more_.

Leaning forward, Greg pressed his mouth to Mycroft’s.

The effect was immediate, Mycroft crawling himself up towards Greg, kissing him with abandon. Mycroft’s hands were on Greg’s face, tracing the shape of his eyebrows, his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, sandpaper rough with stubble.

Greg groaned as Mycroft’s tongue followed the shape of his lips, begging entry. He complied, his own tongue tangling with Mycroft’s, eliciting groans from both of them. Greg was gasping, his erection hardening as the stroking in his mouth sent shivers down his body. Mycroft’s enthusiasm was hot, something he’d not even realised he missed until now. It had been a long time since someone had been so enthusiastic for him. Greg’s arms were wrapped around Mycroft, who by now was straddling Greg, his hands in Greg’s hair, little moans and whimpers coming as he kissed Greg like a man drowning.

In this position, Greg could feel that Mycroft was as hard as he, their cocks rubbing together as Mycroft shifted his weight. Greg slid his hands down Mycroft’s back to grip his arse as he bucked his hips upwards, increasing the friction.

Instantly, Mycroft broke away from Greg, the contact between them making his head jerk back as he cried out. Greg took the opportunity to lift Mycroft’s pyjama shirt over his head, performing a sit up to remove his own shirt before pulling Mycroft back down against himself.

They writhed together, panting, the skin to skin contact feeling incredible. Mycroft must have agreed, if the whining noise he was making was any indication. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft and, with an effort, rolled them both over, his body pressing Mycroft into the mattress.

“I want to make you feel good,” Greg breathed, licking his way down Mycroft’s neck. He was usually a more forthright lover, but Mycroft’s inexperience made him tread lightly.

“I was hoping you’d fuck me, actually,” Mycroft murmured, and Greg’s head jerked up in surprise. He met Mycroft’s eyes, full of determination and trepidation in equal parts at his bold statement.

“Oh, god, yes,” Greg moaned, and a triumphant, relieved smiled crossed Mycroft’s face. Greg’s mouth crashed into Mycroft’s and they kissed hard, hands everywhere as their hips rolled together, the friction making both men groan into their kiss. Somehow they scrabbled both pairs of bottoms off, discovering that while Mycroft was wearing pants, Greg was not.

Mycroft moaned at the feel of Greg’s skin, his hands roaming frantically over every part he could reach.

Greg was sucking on the pale skin of his neck, knowing the bruise that would form would last, but enthralled by the noises he was causing Mycroft to make. He ventured lower, allowing his fingers to tangle in the reddish fuzz on Mycroft’s chest, grinning into the skin at the “Gregory!” Mycroft gasped. Continuing downwards, Greg kissed along the pale skin over Mycroft’s ribs, then down to the softer belly, running his tongue down the ginger trail leading into his pants.

Mycroft was panting, his fingers in Greg’s hair as he nosed along the hard length in Mycroft’s pants. Greg hooked his fingers into the waistband, tugging the fabric carefully down, finally revealing the ginger curls he’d wondered about, nestled at the base of Mycroft’s stiff cock.

“Ginger all over,” he murmured, licking a long stripe up Mycroft’s cock before he brought his body back up, hovering over Mycroft. He brushed his skin against Mycroft, teasing, resisting when Mycroft tried to pull him down to press against him.

“Please…” Mycroft moaned.

He was panting hard, face flushed and completely gorgeous, Greg thought. “Do you have lube?” Greg asked, his teeth tugging on Mycroft’s earlobe.

Mycroft pointed to the bedside table.

Greg leaned over to open the drawer, looking for the tube.

As he did, Mycroft reached down, tempted by the sight of Greg’s erect cock hanging heavy and hard between his legs. Long fingers closed hesitantly around his length, and Greg swore, almost falling on his face as the sensation shot through him. Mycroft’s hand slid lower, tracing over the soft skin of Greg’s balls, tugging gently at their weight.

“Bloody hell, Mycroft!” he exclaimed, gripping the edge of the bed where he was frozen, lube in one hand. “Unless you want me to come right here, stop!” He felt Mycroft’s hand withdraw and he shifted, looking at Mycroft’s face. It was aroused and a little smug, and Greg was glad he wasn’t upset by his outburst.

“God, you’re so sexy,” Greg whispered, one finger tracing the line of Mycroft’s jaw.

“From my thoughts to your lips,” Mycroft replied, the smile he shared more joyous than any Greg had seen from him. Greg dropped a kiss on his nose, saying, “Speaking of my lips…” before dropping back down to envelop Mycroft’s cock with said lips.

It was Mycroft’s turn to swear, his hips bucking upwards as Greg took in as much of him as possible. He withdrew a little, then started slowly licking and kissing his way along Mycroft’s length, learning what made him groan and what brought him closer to the edge.

Greg kept up his attentions as he brought his slicked fingers up to explore behind Mycroft’s balls, thrilling at the sounds he made when one finger pressed inside him. For several long, delicious moments, the sounds of Mycroft’s moans, Greg’s mouth on his cock, and the sounds of Greg’s fingers working him open mingled in the morning air. Greg was careful to keep Mycroft writhing without pushing him too close, and the combination of sensations was almost overwhelming.

Finally, Mycroft tugged on Greg’s hair, gasping, “Please, Gregory…now, please…” Greg was glad to comply, desperate to join his body with Mycroft’s, to move together with him. He fumbled with a condom, before squeezing more lube out and gritting his teeth while slicking it over himself. The last thing he needed was more stimulation, though the condom did help dull that somewhat. He slid up, bringing his face over Mycroft’s and kissed him gently, a chaste touch of lips.

Locking his gaze, Greg lined his cock up with Mycroft’s entrance, watching his eyes as he slid slowly inside. Mycroft’s eyes fluttered closed, his legs wrapping around Greg as he pushed further into his body.

“Okay?” Greg asked quietly, his voice strained with the effort to stay still. He was deep inside Mycroft, and the knowledge almost made him come on its own.

Mycroft nodded, and he whispered, “Move in me.”

Greg was powerless to resist, his hips shaking with control as he slid smoothly and slowly, gasping at the tight heat of Mycroft around him. He could feel Mycroft’s cock pressing against his stomach, and he used his still-lubed fingers to grasp it, firm strokes making Mycroft’s soft moans increase in volume until he panted “Gregory, I…I…” and arched hard, spurting streams of come over Greg’s hand.

The feel of his muscles contracting, rhythmically gripping Greg’s cock was enough to send him over the edge, a rough shout the only warning as he shuddered erratically, his body emptying inside Mycroft. They gripped each other, riding out the aftershocks of two mind blowing orgasms, hot breath panting on flushed skin. Finally, Greg carefully withdrew, discarding the condom on the floor before collapsing next to Mycroft.

“Bloody hell,” Greg murmured, his hand finding Mycroft’s as they lay sweaty and spent on the tangled sheets.

“Indeed,” Mycroft replied, an amused tone in his voice.

Suddenly energised, Greg rolled over and looked at him. Eyes closed, a small smile on his face, Mycroft looked…Greg wasn’t sure. Content seemed to be a good word, as well as happy, debauched and completely adorable.

“What is it, Gregory?” Mycroft asked, and Greg was surprised that the dynamic between them seemed to have shifted again. Mycroft sounded much more like his old self, though with a new layer to his voice. Greg was trying to pin it down when Mycroft spoke again. “I can hear you thinking from here. Would you like to tell me, or will I tell you what you are thinking?”

Greg’s eyebrows rose. “Go ahead, I insist,” he said, amused.

“You were looking exasperated at my initial reply,” Mycroft began, eyes still closed, “before examining my face more closely. I assume you were not looking at the bruise you left on my neck, which will not fit under a shirt collar, thank you very much, but at the expression on my face. It’s possible the tone of my voice indicated a shift in my perspective, and you were trying to determine what that was.”

Mycroft opened his eyes and looked at Greg, a definite sparkle there. “Was I close?”

Greg replied by kissing him firmly, then sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “Of course you were,” he said. “So would you like to tell me what’s changed since last night?”

Mycroft noted the paraphrase of his own earlier question, but instead shifted around so his head was resting on Greg’s thigh.

“Do you need to ask?” he asked, and Greg smiled a fond smile despite himself.

“Not that,” Greg said, “that’s a given. But something had changed before then. As soon as we woke up, you were different. And don’t tell me you would have been like that,” he waved one hand in the air, clearly indicating Mycroft’s behaviour immediately prior, “if that had happened yesterday.”

Mycroft was quiet. Greg let him think, happy to sit with one hand on his chest, watching his mind work. When he spoke, it was with a note of certainty that had been missing since Greg had found him wrapped in the duvet, drinking Scotch and shaking. “I feel like I’ve been awakened,” he said, the words unfamiliar. “Having you close has been a new experience, and combined with the changes I have had conferred on me, and those I have elected to pursue…” he paused, considering his words. “I think I’m happy,” he finished simply. His eyes met Greg’s and the peace there finally explained the new note in Mycroft’s voice, now. It was comprehension and acceptance. Of himself, and of Greg. Together.


End file.
